


somewhere outside my life

by peterparkr



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, But also, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Peter Parker Has Issues, Peter Parker Whump, Spider-Man: Far From Home (Movie) Spoilers, Tony Stark Has A Heart, and far from home, but they aren't in the main timeline of the story, kind of, there are scenes from endgame, this is basically just
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 21:08:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20453576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterparkr/pseuds/peterparkr
Summary: Six years after Thanos was defeated on Titan, Peter starts to have visions of a world where everything didn't work out so well.





	somewhere outside my life

Peter’s about ten miles outside of the city when the alert goes off. Two short, sharp buzzes followed by a long wail, repeated again and again. He pats the empty passenger seat, searching for his phone, without taking his eyes off the road. There is no way he’s going to risk crashing the car that Tony bought him for his frequent commutes between Cambridge and New York. He really should just pull over to be safe, but if the alert says what he expects it to, he needs to keep moving in this direction. When Peter is invited to help, the threat is almost always in New York, and if it's not, that will be the meeting place to start the mission anyway.

Finally, his hand lands on the phone. He taps the screen a few times, blindly, to silence its shrieking, before holding it out in front of him. Sure enough, the Avengers ‘A’ fills half of the screen, with the location and more details below it. The ‘A’ flashes yellow, a lower level threat. The whole display is not subtle in any respect. It’s gone off during exams and it’s turned heads in subway cars. He’s pretty sure Tony made it so loud and flashy just to mess with him.

Peter confirms that the location is indeed NYC and then throws the phone back to the side. The details don’t matter. They never prepare the team for the reality of the battle anyway. There’s always some trick, some piece of intel that wasn’t gathered beforehand, that ends up being the crucial piece. 

Peter’s a pro by now. It’s been almost six years since Tony knighted him on the space donut—six years since they defeated Thanos on Titan. It still feels surreal. On bad nights, Peter can get bogged down in the details, thinking too much about what might have happened if anything in that fight had gone just slightly amiss. The execution had been flawless. He’s been in enough big battles since then to know that doesn’t happen often. He tries not to think about other outcomes.

As soon as Peter hits Manhattan, he screeches to a stop just off the road. It’s not really a parking space, he’s half over the curb, but there’s no time to worry about that now. He opens the car’s skylight, notes the alien ship looming in the sky with a slight sigh. He switches into his suit and shoots a web out of the car, swinging towards the provided location. 

“Oh good,” Sam says as Peter lands next to him. “Bug-boy’s here. Who invited him?”

“You did,” Bucky replies. “Why’d you do that, man?”

Peter rolls his eyes. They like him. He’s almost 85% sure. But, they also like to make fun of and belittle him at every opportunity. They do it to each other too. It’s all in good fun, he’s 80% sure.

“Hey, guys, what’s up?” 

They ignore him. 75% sure.

There are two thuds to Peter’s right. When he sees the signature glow, he almost cheers.

“Ms. Danvers! Hi, how are you? It’s been a while.”

He’s 100% sure that Carol likes him  _ a lot _ . She’s not on earth often, but Tony told him that she thinks he’s funny and adorable.

She smiles warmly. “I’m great. How’s school?”

“Maybe we can all catch up once we’ve stopped whatever’s going on,” Rhodey says from the other side of Carol.

“Thank you, Colonel.” Sam rolls his shoulders. “Cut the chatter, pipsqueak. Everyone, listen up.”

“Pipsqueak? Seriously?” Peter scoffs. “I’m 21, not small, not young.”

“T’Challa let us know that Wakanda sensed a ship entering the atmosphere, heading straight for, you guessed it, New York!” Sam shrugs. “Y’all know the drill. Strange and Wanda are at the sanctuary doing magic things to help as well. We already have the police setting up a perimeter. Let’s stop some aliens!”

He takes off, shield glinting in the sun. The rest of them follow suit. 

Peter swings around, webbing up the hostile creatures as he encounters them. It’s not hard work. They seem kind of dumb, charging around with no actual plan or purpose other than destroying anything in their path. Peter has half a mind to let them get closer to him before taking them out, just to make it a little more exciting. But then Tony would see it on the footage and tell May and they’d both chew him out about unnecessary risks and he’s already listened to that lecture a few times this month.

He’d sat May and Tony down when he turned 18 and told them that he thought he was old enough that he didn’t need baby-monitor protocols and footage checks—he was an adult after all. They had blinked at him for a minute before looking at each other and erupting in laughter. Tony had suggested a vote. Both him and May had raised their hands for the protocols to stay in place. Peter’s resigned himself to it. He’s pretty sure they’ll still be checking up on him when he’s 30.

“I’ve got a whole pack, could use some back-up.” Bucky’s voice crackles through the comms.

Peter always tries to be as useful as possible to him and Sam to get on their good side. “Where?”

“Broadway and 96th.”

“On my way.” 

Peter starts web-slinging in that direction. Sometimes, swinging is the most fun part of their fights. He adds a flip just because.

And suddenly he’s on Titan. He blinks, but the reddish hue of the dead planet doesn’t go away. He gulps and squeezes his eyes shut for longer. Nothing changes when he opens them again.

“Parker, get up.” Strange nudges him with his boot. “They need us, it’s been five years.”

Peter makes his way to his feet. His muscles are stiff, like he hasn’t moved in a long time. 

“What—what’s going on?” His heart is starting to race. “How are we here?”

The guardians struggle to their feet around him. Peter scans their surroundings for Tony, but he’s not there.

He closes his eyes again and takes a deep breath. He’s fighting aliens in Manhattan. This isn’t real. The aliens must be tougher than they thought. They could have some type of hallucinogenic ability. It’s the crucial piece that wouldn’t have been mentioned in the mission report.

“Parker, no time for another nap,” Strange snaps. “Through here, come on.”

Peter finds himself drifting towards the portal with no control over the movement. It could be a trap. He could be walking onto the alien’s ship. Or worse, onto the tip of one of their pointy horns. His feet won’t stop. He tries thrashing his limbs around to slow his march, but he can’t tell if it’s working.

“Pete, Pete, woah, easy.”

Peter’s eyes snap open. He didn’t think they had been closed. Everything aches, but that doesn’t matter right now. He has to get away from the aliens. He throws out an arm which makes contact with something solid followed by a groan.

Everything comes into focus—it’s like putting on his glasses before the bite had corrected his eyesight. Tony’s kneeling next to him, holding his jaw.

Peter sits up straight, hisses slightly when his mind catches up to the pain caused by the quick motion. He’s on the Stark’s familiar couch in the living room at their cabin. It doesn’t make any sense. His thoughts are zipping in and out, trying to process what happened.

“What is going on?” His own voice sounds groggy and far away.

Tony holds up his hands, waves one of them in front of Peter’s face. “Peter? You with me? Please don’t hit me again.”

Tony sits next to Peter on the couch, movements slow and cautious. Peter slumps onto his shoulder almost immediately and the gesture makes Tony relax.

“Did I hit you hard? Sorry.” He feels young, small, like he’s regressed into a scrawny high schooler.

“Nothing I can’t take.” 

The fact that Tony didn’t deny it altogether means that it was hard. Peter feels like he’s going to cry.

“What happened?” It comes out breathy and hollow.

Tony rubs his shoulder. “You’re going to have to fill some of it in, kid. Apparently you took a nosedive. Rhodey brought you here—thought May would flip if he dumped you on her out cold. He’s a smart guy.”

The last thing he remembers is swinging to help Bucky. Then flashes of Titan. Peter shivers. He doesn’t understand it. If it was some sort of hallucination caused by the aliens, the other members of the team would have experienced something too. But, Tony would have mentioned that. Maybe it was a flashback. Peter’s never had one of those before. He doesn’t know how they work, but the scene wasn’t like what had happened on Titan. Tony wasn’t even there.

“I—I don’t know—I’m—”

“Hey, hey, don’t get all worked up about it now,” Tony says. “Anything hurt? Everything, I bet. I’ll grab your painkillers.”

Peter stares at his trembling hands while Tony leaves. Nothing makes sense. But, he focuses on the room. The familiar surroundings start to calm him down.

Tony comes back. He holds out some pills and a glass of water which Peter accepts silently. 

“Okay?” he asks.

Peter nods. The pain will go away, most of it overnight. Maybe, the Titan vision was a fluke. He could have been knocked out of the sky by something, dreamed of the planet while he was out. It wouldn’t be the first time, he’s had plenty of nightmares featuring the trip to space over the years.

His thoughts start to flit over other things. 

“Oh my god.” Peter turns to Tony. “The car is just parked, like on a sidewalk.”

Tony laughs. He sounds relieved.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get someone to pick it up.”

* * *

Peter’s in class a few weeks later when it happens again. One second he’s lazily doodling in his notebook as the professor drones on about thermodynamics, the next he’s flying through the air.

He screams and tries to turn it into a more dignified grunt as he hits the ground hard. The ship above lights up the battlefield, missiles land all around him. He dives into a ditch to avoid any explosions, clutching whatever is in his hands tight to his chest.

For the first time, he takes a good look at the thing. He almost chokes when he realizes it’s a gauntlet, with all six infinity stones embedded in it. He shouldn’t have them. They shouldn’t be together—some of them shouldn’t even exist. After Titan, Strange had kept the time stone, and Thor had insisted on taking the space stone, but Wanda had destroyed the rest.

“Parker, can you hear me?”

There’s a hand coming towards him and it’s going to  _ take the stones _ . He can’t let that happen. He tries to shoot a web, pin the hand to the person’s side, but his fingers make contact with bare skin rather than the button of his web-shooter.

Peter blinks.

His thermo professor is staring down at him, hand slapping his cheek lightly. A bunch of his classmates’ faces occupy the air above him as well. Peter’s laying on the ground, pretty much curled up in a ball. His face starts to flush under the weight of dozens of pairs of eyes. 

“Did someone call EMS?”

One of Peter’s peers confirms it. He tries to sit up but his professor gently pushes him back down.

“Take it easy, I think you passed out.”

“It had to be a seizure,” a girl behind the professor says. “He threw himself out of the chair.”

Peter’s eyes dart over the mass of people. There are too many—all watching him. It’s overwhelming. He doesn’t know what’s going on or which face to focus on. He pushes himself up, despite the professor’s attempts to stop him and struggles to his feet. 

“I’m fine, sorry about that. I think I’m going to—“ Peter points to the door and slides his notebook into his backpack.

The crowd parts for Peter to exit even as the professor calls for him to stop. As soon as the lecture hall’s door slams shut behind him, he slides his phone out of his pocket. His fingers automatically type in May’s number before his brain shifts into gear and decides against that notion. He pulls up Google instead.

He looks up hallucinations and flashbacks, bounces from one WebMd page to another. There are more causes for hallucinations than Peter had ever thought and one of them is a brain tumor. Which figures, he’s never been on a WebMd page that hasn’t suggested cancer as the culprit.

He sighs and finally clicks on the page he’d been avoiding—post traumatic stress disorder. He reads it. It sort of fits, better than the other options at least. 

Peter should call May or Tony, who would probably understand it completely, but instead he texts Ned.

_ Got a minute? _

He pockets his phone as he unlocks the door of his apartment and grabs a snack. By the time he collapses on his bed, there are texts from two different people because Ned doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut.

He opens the one from MJ first.

_ Why do you tell Ned things before me? _

Her typing bubble is up under it. Peter rolls his eyes. He didn’t tell Ned anything.

He switches to his conversation with Ned.

_ Oh god, what’s wrong?  _

_ Why aren’t you answering? what happened? _

_ Do you want me to call you? _

_ I told MJ _

_ Sorry I got worried _

Ned’s the best friend he could ever ask for, but the boy sure knows how to overreact. It might be slightly warranted after years of unfortunate mishaps that Peter has encountered— _ slightly.  _ But still, this seems like overkill.

_ I didn’t answer for like a minute dude _ , he texts back.  _ Chill. _

He’s about to craft an apology to his girlfriend, but his phone is no longer in his hands. He stares down at his now nanotech clad fingers. 

“Not again, fuck.”

There doesn’t seem to be anything triggering them—these hallucination-flashback-whatever’s. He tries to hold on to the fact that the battle around him isn’t real, but it keeps slipping away. It’s like mentally trying to grasp a falling bar of soap in the shower—eventually he loses his grip on the thought and it’s replaced by adrenaline and fear.

A pack of what he can only call space dogs surrounds him. He’s fighting for his life. The spindly legs on the back of his suit stab out at them. He shoots webs in every direction to ward off the ones that aren’t stopped by the legs.

And then everything stills. Not completely, but it’s like both him and the space dogs realize that something big is happening. 

“I am inevitable!” Thanos’ booming voice sends chills throughout Peter. He’s supposed to be dead. Nebula had killed him once they got the stones off.

But, that hadn’t happened. They’d lost on Titan. Or had they? It’s all kind of hazy. If Peter wasn’t still fending off the weakly fighting space dogs while simultaneously watching Thanos and Tony, he would give more thought to it.

Thanos snaps and nothing happens. A wave of relief sweeps through Peter, so strong that he almost sinks to the ground. But then Tony raises a glowing arm.

“And I am Iron Man.”

“No,” Peter whispers.

Tony snaps. The dogs around Peter fade away. Peter sprints to Tony.

“We won, Mr. Stark. Sir, you did it we won. Please.” He grips the edges of Tony’s armor.

Someone’s hands grab his shoulder, start to guide him away. “Tony, I’m sorry.”

He can’t stop crying and shaking and the arc reactor blinks out and it can’t be real. It can’t be real. It  _ can’t  _ be real.

He’s gripping the frame of his bed so hard that little divots are forming in the metal. He pries each finger off one at a time, flexes them to stop them from shaking. The mattress is soft underneath him. He curls his hands into fists and presses them into it, trying to find some sense of grounding. It’s not working. He casts around the room, searching for anything that he can latch onto to center himself  _ here _ , in his apartment instead of in that wasteland. Every time he blinks he’s back there, with Tony’s pale face. He fumbles around his sheets for his phone, finds it and painstakingly navigates to his contacts, jabs at the number below Tony’s name.

He holds the phone up to his ear. The only sounds in the room are the dial tone and his ragged breaths but he can still hear the battle, the snap. His own breaths remind him of Tony’s last ones.

“Hey, Pete. What’s up?”

Tony’s voice draws a sob out of Peter. He covers his mouth to try to stifle the sound, but it’s ineffective.

“Peter? What’s wrong?”

He can’t speak, can barely breath.

“Peter? Can you hear me?” Tony’s voice wavers a little with panic.

Peter gulps down another sob. “Y-yeah.”

“Okay, good. That’s good, Pete. Can you tell me where you are?”

“Room.” One word answers are all he’s got at the moment.   


“I can be there in thirty minutes, I think. Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

How could he possibly be okay? Tony’s dead. His brain short-circuits because that can’t be right. He’s talking to Tony.

“Tony?” 

“Yup, right here.”

“You-kay?”

Tony laughs, but there’s no joy in it. “I’m good, kiddo. I’ll be better once you tell me if you are.”

Peter truly doesn’t know the answer, but the room seems to be refilling with air, now, so that’s helpful. “Something’s wrong.”

“Care to elaborate for me?”

“You died.” The images conjured by the words are too vivid. He squeezes his head to try to stop them.

There’s a long pause and Peter’s on the verge of fully losing it again because maybe the phone call isn't real either.

“Nope, just checked—heart beating, blood pumping, the whole shabang. 25 minutes out, okay?”

“Don’t hang up!” It’s a few pitches higher than it should be, and far too loud.

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

Tony stops asking questions after that, but keeps up a steady stream of words. Peter doesn’t bother processing them, just lets the syllables of the familiar voice wash over him. 

The window opens and Peter flinches away from the sound. The Iron Man suit hovers in, carefully, and drops down. Peter can count on one hand the amount of times he’s seen Tony in it over the last five years. He’d retired from the hero life soon after Morgan was born and the other original Avengers had mostly followed suit. The armor retreats back into the compartment on Tony’s chest. The man doesn’t move towards him, just scans the room and Peter.

“P—” he starts.

Peter launches himself at him before Tony can finish, wrapping his arms around him and burying his head in his shoulder. Tony brings a hand up to the back of his head. 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, carding through Peter’s hair a bit.

Once Peter realizes that his tears are soaking through Tony’s shirt, he pulls away and turns to wipe his face off in a lame attempt to prevent Tony from seeing him cry. This whole day has been utterly humiliating. 

“What happened?”

“I, um,” Peter coughs and looks up at the ceiling, pushing away images of rubble and and glowing stones. “I don’t know.”

Tony swivels the desk chair around and settles onto it, crossing his legs. He’s grown so much more patient since Morgan happened. And he knows him too well. There’s rarely a silence that Peter doesn’t feel the intense need to fill.

“I think—I might be, I don’t know.” He doesn’t want to say it, saying it makes it even more real than it already is. 

Tony just quirks one of his eyebrows.

“I think I’m hallucinating.” It’s a heavy word in this context, Peter runs a hand through his hair. “God—is this PTSD? I don’t know what’s going on.”

Tony’s face barely twitches—it’s pretty much a reflex for him, curbing any reaction in lieu of a stoic, impassive look or a flashy grin if he’s really uncomfortable. Sometimes it annoys Peter, when he gives the man a present or says something meaningful, but now he’s grateful for it. 

“I’m going to need a little more info, kiddo.” The words are gentle. “Was this the first time? What did you see?”

Peter shakes his head, and for some reason doesn’t stop, just continues moving it back and forth. He’s dangerously close to crying again.

“Okay, okay, hey.” Tony stands and places his hands on Peter’s head to stop it from turning. “Everything’s going to be alright.”

Peter doesn’t think that Tony has any control over that, but he’s willing to buy in because he doesn’t have the energy to argue the point. He just wants to sleep. He’s mentally drained, kind of feels like he did just fight in a battle, and he wants the thoughts and images in his brain to vanish for a little while.

“Here’s what we’re going to do.” Tony rubs his hands together. “I’m going to take you back to the cabin, get you some rest, then we’ll figure this out, okay?”

“I have homework.” It doesn’t sound convincing, even to Peter’s own ears. “And class tomorrow.”

“Overused line, didn’t even accept it the first time I met you,” Tony jokes. “But, seriously, kid, if you think I’m leaving you here like this you really are losing it.”

And if Peter’s honest with himself, he doesn’t want to be alone.

* * *

Tony lowers him to the ground outside the cabin and Peter’s vision stutters with pinpricks of black. He starts to sway, the ground pitching toward him at an alarming rate. Tony’s hands find his shoulders again, this time warm skin instead of the cold metal. 

“Okay, right to bed,” Tony says, guiding him inside and towards his room.

“Not a kid anymore,” Peter reminds him.

Tony chuckles. “That’s the thing though. You’ll always be that scrappy little punk to me.”

Peter wants to make a snarky comment, but it’s also kind of nice to hear. And bed does sound good. His muscles ache like he’s run for miles and been bruised all over. And his brain feels even more worn out—even when a panicked memory of the vision surfaces, it feels slow and far away.

He sags a little bit against Tony as they walk. The man’s grip on his shoulders tightens.

“When was the last time you were on patrol? Have you been hit with anything weird lately?” Peter’s known Tony long enough to recognize the sharpness in his tone as concern rather than anger or annoyance.

“Over the weekend,” Peter mumbles. “And no, everything was normal.”

Tony nods and helps Peter onto his bed. Peter immediately curls up and closes his eyes. 

“Just call if you need anything,” Tony whispers. “FRIDAY will get me if I don’t hear.”

Peter’s head flies off the pillow. The motion causes Tony to pause in the doorway.

“Wait Tony I—” Peter says before he can stop himself. 

He doesn’t even finish the thought, but Tony seems to understand because he comes back into the room and settles on the foot of the bed. 

“Alright if I sit here until you fall asleep?” 

Peter nods and the panic fades back into the bone-deep exhaustion. His eyes flicker shut again.

* * *

The sleep is dreamless. It’s a blessing. Peter wakes to the bed shifting around him. When he opens his eyes, Morgan’s face fills his vision. She holds a finger to her lips and makes a shushing sound.

Peter smiles and props his head up with his hand. “Morning, M.”

“Were you stabbed again?” She’s tilting her head to the side and pouting.

“Not that I know of,” Peter replies. “Why?”

“Daddy told Mommy not to tell Aunt May that you were here. Last time he said that was when you were hurt.”

Peter winces. If May ever finds out this is a thing that they do semi-often, both his and Tony’s bodies will be found washed up on the bank of some river a few days later. It’s not that they want to lie to her. But, Tony was a hero so he understands that injuries are a part of the gig. Occasionally, he lets Peter crash at the cabin where May won’t have to worry about him. Most things heal overnight anyways, but she wouldn’t see it that way. She’d just be upset that he was hurt at all. 

“Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”  _ Physically, _ he tacks on in his mind.

For a moment, she doesn’t look convinced, but then she starts bouncing up and down. “Can we go on the roof, then?”

It’s one of her favorite things to do. She loves heights more than Peter thought a five-year-old would. One day, she’s going to ask to swing from skyscrapers with him and he’s going to do it because he doesn’t know how to say no to her. 

He stands and scoops Morgan into his arms. “Let’s go.”

She cups a hand around his ear. “We have to be quiet because Daddy said I wasn’t supposed to wake you.”

“Oh, then you know what we can do?” Morgan watches Peter intently. “We can pretend to be secret agents.”

She pumps a hand in the air. “Yes!”

Peter straps on web shooters and webs her to his chest for extra safety. He opens his window and crawls up to the roof, Morgan whispering their mission details along the way. Once they get to the top, he cuts the webbing that attaches them and grabs her hand instead. He’s sticky. There’s no way she’ll fall. 

Morgan drags Peter around the roof, leaning over edges to spy on the bad guys below. When she says to duck, Peter ducks. When she says to run, he throws her onto his shoulders and runs to the other side of the roof. 

“I thought I heard footsteps up there!” Tony’s on the lawn, staring up at them with a barely concealed smile.

“They found us!” Morgan hisses to Peter.

Peter laughs and picks her up. “Your dad will always find us.”

He swings down with her. She leaps out of his arms and runs into Tony’s.

“What were you playing, little miss?”

“Secret agents!”

“Wow, that’s a good one.”

Morgan nods into his shoulder. Tony shifts his attention to Peter. 

“Feeling better?”

Peter starts to nod but Morgan lifts her head and answers for him. “Peter said don’t worry, he’s not hurt.”

Tony looks back at him and Peter can’t decipher the meaning behind it. 

“You’re right, of course,” he says, tickling Morgan’s stomach a bit. “I bet you want breakfast? Let’s see if Mommy’s cooking anything up.”

Tony carries her past Peter, mouthing  _ be right back  _ as he passes.

Peter wanders over to the dock. He watches the still water for a minute before laying down and staring up at the sky instead. 

“Eggs?”

Peter sits up and accepts the plate from Tony. It’s more full than Tony usually stacks his portions, and that’s saying something because the man already likes to shove as much food in to him as possible. He quirks an eyebrow.

Tony sits, dangling his feet over the edge. “Thought maybe you were so tired yesterday because you aren't eating enough. You know, with your metabolism—”

“I know,” Peter interrupts. “I eat enough. Promise.”

“Okay.”

He scarfs down all of the eggs anyway.

“Your girl has been texting me non-stop,” Tony says. “And your guy. You’re lucky they decided to check with me first instead of your aunt or we’d both be in deep water.”

Peter had told them to always check with Tony first. He hates going behind May’s back but he hates stressing her out even more. It’s necessary.

“Sorry. They get worried. Very easily.”

“It’s okay, even though Michelle is moderately terrifying. Ned texts me sometimes anyway—just ‘cause.”

That’s news. Peter tilts his head. “What does he even say?”

“That’s between us.” Tony smirks.

Peter groans and lets his head drop back onto the dock. He has a sinking feeling that Ned might be telling Tony every stupid thing that he does. It would explain how he knew about MJ so fast and the time when Peter had shown up with a black eye and Tony had just laughed and (correctly) said ‘so even Spider-Man trips on the stairs sometimes, huh?’.

“I’m not sure they believe what I’m saying this time, though,” Tony says, voice no longer light and jokey. “I’ve been dodging their questions about what happened. I don’t think I really even know.”

Peter keeps his focus on the sky. He counts the clouds that he can see, arranges their shapes into images of animals and objects. One kind of looks like the Iron Man helmet if he squints.

“Do you think you could tell me, with a few more details?”

Peter squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn’t want to think about yesterday. He would like to just sit on the dock with Tony and laugh about his friend’s antics. Then he wants to go inside and play with Morgan until lunch. Maybe work on something in Tony’s shop throughout the afternoon. Pepper could invite May over for dinner. If he asked nicely, Tony would probably take him back to campus in his newest Audi, driving way too fast, and then he could fall asleep in his apartment with a smile on his face.

But that’s not the reality today.

“Um,” he starts. “Remember when I got knocked out of the sky a few weeks ago?”

There’s a long pause. “Mmhmm.”

“Well, I’m not sure if I was actually hit by anything. Suddenly I was on Titan.”

He opens one eye to watch Tony stiffen at the name of the planet. When the man glances over with worry stricken across his face, Peter snaps it shut again.

“But it wasn’t like before. You weren’t there.” He swallows. “And then yesterday I was in class, but I wasn’t. I was in a battle and I had the stones. I, uh, fell out of my chair or something. So I went back to my apartment, but it happened again and—“

Images of the battle, of Tony snapping, Tony laying on the ground, eyes dull assault his mind. He takes a few shaky breaths to push them away.

“You used the stones to wipe out their army. It—it killed you.”

He digs the heels of his hands into his eyes, as if that’ll stop the scene that’s burned in his head from replaying.

“Hey, open up. Look at me.”

Peter hesitantly opens his eyes. Tony’s moved from the edge of the dock, crouching over Peter.

“You’re okay. I’m okay. We’re all safe. Listen, Thanos is dead. Most of the stones are destroyed. We’re good. Right here on earth.”

Peter sits up, throws his hands in the air in frustration. “I know, I know that. But—“

“I know you know. But, I also know it can be hard to believe. So I’m just reinforcing it.” Tony squeezes his shoulder.

Peter sighs and nods, lets the rigid line of his spine droop.

“Okay. You’re going to take a break for a few days, we’ll see how it goes. Meanwhile I’m going to do some research and make some calls.” Tony pauses, Peter can tell that he’s biting the inside of his cheek. “Do you still dream about it a lot?”

Peter almost lies. It’s what he usually does when Tony asks him questions like that. But, what are a few nightmares when he’s already admitted to hallucinating about infinity stones. 

“I wouldn’t say a lot. Just—sometimes.”

Tony asks Peter a few more questions about what he can remember before the hallucinations, about his patrols before the first one, if any other weird things have happened. He suggests calling May which Peter refuses so adamantly that Tony throws his arms up in surrender.

“What do you think is wrong with me?” Peter asks once Tony seems to be done interrogating him.

The man’s grip on his shoulder turns vice-like. “Nothing is  _ wrong  _ with you. Don’t phrase it like that. And also don’t worry about it—I’ll figure it out—this is your break now. I’m turning your brain off.” 

Tony mimes flipping a switch on the side of Peter’s forehead with a click of his tongue. The gesture brings a smile to his face.

“Does that work on Morgan?” he asks.

“What, are you questioning my methods?” Tony grins. “No, absolutely not. She just tells me that if I turned her brain off she would die. And where am I supposed to go from there?”

They lounge by the water for a few hours. Peter finds himself drifting in and out of sleep in the comforting presence of Tony and the warm glow that settles on his skin from the sun. When he is awake, Tony is usually typing away on his StarkPad.

“Dad!” Morgan hurtles down the dock towards them.

Tony drops the pad to the side in anticipation of her inevitable crash. She slams into him a few seconds later and he falls back with her in his arms. 

“Can Peter play now?”

“That’s up to Peter.”

Morgan turns to him, all puppy dog eyes, silently pleading. She doesn’t need to beg. Peter immediately rises to his feet. She bounds over to him and grabs his hand, dragging him off the dock. Tony shoots Peter a smile before going back to his vigorous typing.

Morgan ducks into her tent and Peter crawls in after her. They used to fit in it better, when they were both a little bit smaller than they are now. The pace at which Morgan seems to grow is astonishing. Peter feels like it was just yesterday that she was born. He remembers waiting with May, jittery and excited, then Tony’s bright smile when he told them to come up to the room. Peter was the third person besides her parents, after Rhodey and Happy, to hold her. It’s a point of pride for him—that Tony and Pepper had trusted him with that when she was so tiny and brand new. 

Morgan shoves a stuffed bear into his hand. “We’ve got to build Mr. Bear a house.”

She swipes a pile of legos between them. Peter eyes them skeptically.

“Mr. Bear looks too big for the amount of legos here, M,” he says.

“I know that.” She reaches around him and her hand comes back with more legos. “You’re blocking some, silly.”

Peter twists to grab more of the pieces behind him, but his hand comes back with rocks. His heart skips a beat. He whips his head around—rubble, dust, ruins.

“Morgan?”

There’s no answer because she’s not here. He’s starting to forget who she is. He doesn’t know any ‘Morgan’s. His eyes land on Tony’s body, Pepper leans on his chest, her body shaking. Rhodey’s facing away from them, head buried in his hands. 

“No, no, no,” Peter says. “Please, stop, no.”

A bunch of other heros kneel before Tony. Peter hates them for it. Why aren’t they doing anything? Why won’t they help him? This isn’t how it’s supposed to end.

“No, no.” The single syllable keeps falling from his lips.

He starts backing away slowly, stumbling a little. He can barely see through the tears in his eyes. His back hits something rough, probably a piece of the broken compound or Thanos’ broken ship. Everything’s broken. He pushes himself around it, tries to keep walking. His foot catches on something and he sprawls onto the ground. He crawls a little before getting back to his feet. He needs to get away from all of this. 

“Hey, Spidey?”

Peter blinks up. Sam’s blocking his path.

“Sorry, never got your name.”

Peter tries to push past him, but the man moves from side to side to intercept him.

“Sit down, man. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

Peter shakes his head. “No, no, no.”

Sam forces him to the ground, keeping an arm firmly around his shoulders. Peter ducks his head between his knees, trying to catch his breath.

“Head up, hands behind it. That’ll help.”

Peter complies. It doesn’t help much. He doesn’t think that anything would.

He senses movement to his right and glances over. Steve’s walking by, carrying something, followed by a trail of other people. Peter searches the group for Tony. He sees Pepper and Rhodey clinging to each other, Strange dragging his feet with his head downcast, Nebula with her usual stoic expression but something like pain behind her eyes.

“Where’s Tony?” Peter whispers.

Sam sighs and starts rubbing his back. Peter shifts his attention back to Steve, finally looks at what he’s holding.

He tries to scream, but all that comes out is a sharp sob.

_ Come back to me, Peter. Come on. _

There’s an ache so profound, so deep. Peter hasn’t felt anything like it since Ben got shot. He never wanted to feel it again. He curls in around it, trying to keep it from splitting him in two. Tony hangs limp in Steve’s arms.

_ Peter. I’m right here. You’re safe. We’re in the yard, right outside the cabin. You’re laying on the grass, can you feel it? Come on, Pete. _

“Tony, no,” Peter chokes out. 

His chest is heaving up and down, too fast. He doesn’t know how to slow it down. Sam’s still rubbing his back.

“I’m right here,” Sam says in Tony’s voice. “We’re right here. In my yard, at the cabin.”

“What?”

Sam’s face starts to flicker between his and Tony’s, then between Tony alive, and Tony’s head hanging at an unnatural angle in Steve’s arms, still in a way that can’t just be sleep. It’s not only disturbing, but nauseating. 

Peter covers his eyes as bile rises in his throat. “Make it stop, make it stop.”

“I would give anything to, Pete, anything.” 

It’s like the world had been spinning and suddenly it snaps into place. His mind still reels and his stomach still riots, but at least the image in front of him isn’t alternating between the two different worlds. Because that’s what it feels like—two worlds. Not reality and hallucination, but two separate realities.

Tony yanks Peter’s hand to his chest. He starts taking slow, exaggerated breaths.

“Feel that, Pete,” he says. “Can you match it for me?”

Peter closes his eyes, tries to focus on slowing the rate of his breathing, but he can also feel Tony’s underlying heart rate. It’s far too fast, stampeding in his chest. Which means he’s scared. If Tony’s scared, he’s screwed. He leans to the side and starts gagging.

“Please, make it stop,” he whines. “Tony, I don’t want to go back.”

Tony’s face shatters, lips parted in a deep frown. If Peter’s not mistaken there are tears in his eyes.

“Daddy, is he okay?” Morgan peaks out at Peter from behind Tony, little fists balled in his shirt. “Does he have the flu?”

Tony’s focus shifts to her. “Morgan, I said to go find mommy, okay? Please.”

“No.” She crosses her arms. “I want to stay with Peter.”

The events before the vision come rushing back. He’d been in Morgan’s tent, but there’s only sky above him now. He prays that he didn’t knock it down. They were supposed to build Mr. Bear a house. He’d freaked out in front of Morgan. 

“Did I scare her?” His voice rises high with a hint of hysteria. “I didn’t mean to scare her.”

The circles that Tony’s rubbing into his back pick up speed. “She’s fine. Right, Morgan? You’re okay.”

“Yeah,” she says. “Daddy, what’s wrong with Peter?”

Tony closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“Honey, look at me, I have a very important mission for you. It’ll help Peter.” The last bit piques Morgan’s interest. “Go inside, tell mom what happened, and ask her to help you get Peter a glass of water, okay? And then bring it to his room. We’ll meet you in there.”

Morgan nods and scampers toward the house.

“Did I ruin—her tent? Did—I hurt her?” It’s hard to talk between sharp inhales and around the violent twists of his stomach.

“She’s fine, kid,  _ you’re  _ fine.” Tony slicks his sweaty hair out of his face. “You need to try to calm down. I know it’s hard, but I don’t want you passing out on me. Shhhh.”

Peter’s stomach lurches and he rolls to the side again. When he’s finished, Tony eases him into a sitting position, murmuring soft phrases over and over again.

Everything settles slowly. Once he’s calmed down enough, Peter starts apologizing, which Tony shoots down with a look. He helps Peter to his feet.

Peter starts babbling about the vision as Tony guides him inside. “Everyone was so sad, they were kneeling. Your face, god. Sam helped me. Oh my god Tony, you were dead. Really dead.”

“Shhh, Peter.” Tony opens the door and props his shoulder into it before lugging Peter through. “It’s not real.”

“Felt real,” he mutters.

Tony doesn’t answer. 

They enter his room. Morgan’s perched on his bed with a stack of books next to her. Pepper tracks Tony and Peter’s movement across the room from her spot on a chair in the corner. The lines on her forehead deepen. 

As soon as Peter’s on the bed, Morgan reaches for the glass of water sitting on the table and holds it out to him. He accepts it with a tentative smile. 

“I’m sorry, M.”

Her eyebrows furrow. “Why?”

Before Peter can think up a suitable answer, she grabs the top book from the stack and burrows under the covers next to him. She starts reading, pointing to each word for Peter to follow along. It’s adorable. Peter can’t help but relax into the soft sheets as he gets regaled with the familiar childhood tales.

“Tony, we have to call May,” he hears Pepper whisper to Tony. “This isn’t fair to her.”

Peter glances over. He makes eye contact with Tony and shakes his head. Tony just turns back to Pepper. They seem to be locked in some sort of silent battle—the only kind of conversation that Peter can’t hear with his enhanced senses.

Morgan closes the first book. She rearranges the pile so that it’s on the bottom and then grabs the next one from the top.

“Mom and Dad always read to me when I’m sick. It makes me feel better.” She looks up at him. “Do you feel better?”

“You bet,” he says, but closes his eyes so that she won’t see the way that they start to fill.

* * *

He can’t sleep, but he pretends to. Pepper eventually carries Morgan out of the room despite her protests, leaving just him and Tony.

“FRIDAY?” Tony whispers.

“I believe he’s awake, boss.”

Peter groans and rolls over to bury his face into the pillow. “Not fair.”

“Pepper’s going to call your aunt.”

“That wasn’t your decision to make.” His icy tone is muffled but still recognizable. 

“Tough.”

He can tell by the tone exactly how Tony is shrugging when he says it. The same nonchalant shrug as when Peter confronts him about yet another safety upgrade to his suit. Or when he’d just happened to schedule a talk at MIT during the first week of Peter’s freshman year. He grabs fistfuls of the sheets, grips them as hard as he can for a second before letting go. 

“This is a fucking nightmare.” Peter means for it to come out angry, about Tony involving May, but instead it just sounds tired and broken.

When Tony doesn’t answer right away, Peter spins around, wide-eyed, expecting the room to have transformed into the battle or into Titan. Instead, it’s just Tony, watching him with confusion until it clicks and he jumps out of his chair.

“Damnit, sorry,” he says, sitting next to Peter. “I’m right here. You’re right here.” He pauses, more confusion. “You are here, right?”

Peter nods and ducks his head. All of this is so humiliating. He can’t even give someone a second to think about what to say before assuming that they’re gone. He’s angry and annoyed, mostly at himself, but above all of that, he’s terrified. He doesn’t see an outcome that doesn’t end with him getting checked into a psych ward. Which, in all honesty, would probably be helpful. But he still doesn’t  _ want  _ that. Usually, he’s grateful for his powers, for the life it’s carved out for him. They had changed his circumstances, introduced him to Tony, allowed him to help people. Sure it also screwed up some things, got in the way of schoolwork sometimes, pissed off his friends by being often unavailable, but he’s never wanted to get rid of them completely. Until now. Now, he wishes he could get a do-over where he never got bit, never started fighting in insane battles with incredibly powerful individuals at the age of fourteen. Maybe then his brain wouldn’t be so fucked up now.

“Hey, do you want—let’s do something. Take your mind off things,” Tony says. “Before May gets here and skins me alive. What do you want to do? Movie? Workshop? You can’t say sleep because you faked that.”

Peter chooses workshop. They start making some repairs on Peter’s suit from his last patrol, but the work makes his stomach churn. He has a bad feeling that he might never patrol again, and even though part of him wishes that he never became Spider-Man, he can’t actually imagine life without it. It’s his purpose. But, there’s no way May or Tony would ever let him continue if there’s a chance that he’ll start hallucinating in a life or death situation. He finds himself just staring down at his suit, frozen. When Tony notices, he leads him to the other side of the garage. They spend a ridiculous amount of time modifying a roomba so that it will dance around in a bunch of different patterns while flashing multicolored lights for Morgan. At least, Tony says it’s for Morgan and she probably will enjoy the thing, but Peter’s pretty sure Tony came up with the idea out of nowhere so that they’d have something meaningless and fun to do. It’s effective. Peter laughs as the roomba swirls around when they’re done with it.

“Hmmmm.” Tony stares at it, stroking his chin. “Ah, okay, got it. MERDAL!”

“Myrtle?”

“MERDAL!” Tony throws his hands toward it, shaking them a bit. “Morgan’s Enhanced Roomba by Dad And Lad!”

Peter grins at him. 

The moment of pure blissful distraction is lost when the door to the garage swings open. May storms in with raw fury that only softens when she sees Peter. She gathers him into her arms, standing on her tiptoes so that she can cradle his head. He melts into it. It’s the same comfort from six when he broke his arm, and eleven when Flash started giving him a hard time, and fourteen when Ben died. Everything’s better when May’s there. Sometimes he forgets that.

Even when she’s angry.

She takes a step back and brings her hands to his face. “What were you thinking?”

She spins to Tony, pointing an accusatory finger. “And  _ you.  _ What were  _ you  _ thinking? What happened to us being a team against him? What happened to ‘we’re on the same side, May’?”

“What.” Peter shifts his gaze between the two of them. “Against me?”

Tony blinks. “Um.”

“You’ve been playing both sides, Stark!” May throws her hands in the air. “Unbelievable!” 

She storms past him, back towards the door, calling for Pepper.

“Wait, May, I’m not on his side.” Tony shakes his head and points at Peter, mouthing  _ totally on your side, kid. _

“What? Why are there even teams?”

“Someone has to stop you from getting in over your head.” May calls over her shoulder. “Apparently, it’s just me.”

Tony winces. “What she means is, we’re looking out for you when, maybe, you’re not.”

Peter stares at them. “I’m an adult.”

“Peter Parker is a responsible adult,” May says. “Spider-man is reckless and has very little regard for his own safety.”

Peter wrinkles his nose. That’s not true. It’s more like Peter Parker makes some rash decisions that usually involve Spider-Man. It’s probably best not to correct her.

Pepper sticks her head through the door. “That’s not bad, Peter. My husband didn’t have Tony Stark or Iron Man down when he was 20 years older than you.”

Tony gasps. “Hey!”

He follows May out of the garage, all three adults bickering. The door slams, leaving just Peter in the empty room.

“What the fuck?” he mutters to himself before trailing after them.

* * *

It’s late enough that Morgan’s already down for the night, so Peter’s dysfunctional parent squad has full reign to discuss his situation in great detail.

“Explain what happened one more time,” May says.

He sighs and tucks his hands beneath his legs so that they won’t shake before launching into the tale again. His heart always starts to flutter in an irregular rhythm when he gets to certain parts.

“Now, Stark, what did it look like from the outside?”

Peter closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to know.

“Why are you calling me that? We’ve been on a first-name basis for years.”

“You lost that privilege. Focus.”

“Fine,” Tony says. “Well, Morgan started yelling—“

The words start to dull and then sharpen—too loud, too fast, too much. The crickets outside overtake Tony’s voice and then they fade and there’s water incessantly dripping somewhere and then Tony’s back. He covers his ears, but it does nothing to drown out the sounds.

“Ran over—tent—ground—he was crawling—then—“

There’s an owl somewhere. Morgan’s resting heart rate seems to boom throughout the cabin. Pepper’s voice sharpens.

“Tony—did you—PTSD—“

Peter swears he hears cars honking. Is that the city? All the way out here? He pushes harder against his ears. 

“—jump to conclusions—other causes—“

“I’m a nurse—schizophr—lots of—“

“—enhanced—could be something he came into contact—chemicals—“

“—magic?”

“STOP!” He jumps up, keeping his hands firmly against his ears. “Please, stop.”

The three trail off. They watch him, the same wary expression on their faces.

“Is it happening?” May whispers.

Tony opens his mouth but Peter cuts him off. “No! Just stop—talking about it! Stop talking!”

He flees the room before anyone can get a word in, plucks a pair of headphones off of his shelf and clamps them over his ears before hopping onto the bed and pulling the sheets up over his head.

It takes him a few seconds to realize that he’s rocking back and forth with his hands clasped around his knees, like a child—pathetic. He punches the surface of the bed, pulling the force behind it at the last second so he doesn’t cause real damage.

When his brain no longer feels like it’s going to burst, he lowers the sheet. The room is empty. He doesn’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed. It makes sense that they didn’t come after him. He keeps telling them that he’s an adult and yet he panicked and threw a tantrum like a toddler during the adults only conversation.

He sighs and hugs his pillow. He hangs on the edge of sleep for a while. Then, the other side of the bed sinks down. Peter rolls over, eyes only slits, but he still recognizes May settling in on the other side. He smiles and finally sleeps.

* * *

When he wakes, May’s still with him. Peter squints up at her. She’s already dressed—in fancy clothes. Her hair and make-up are done, too. 

“Peter, honey, you need to get up. We don’t want to be late.”

She looks so sad. Something’s wrong. He looks past her to the room around them. It’s his bedroom at the apartment. It doesn’t seem right—that they’re here. But Peter’s not quite sure why.

Then it hits him all at once. Tony’s dead. Today’s the funeral.

He rolls over, away from May. “Don’t wanna go.”

It’s too much. He can’t face all of the people that will be there. He can’t face reality. The whole time since it happened, he’s been building up some semblance of normalcy. This new normal relies on completely ignoring the fact that Tony’s dead. Scratch that, he’s ignoring the fact that Tony ever existed. If he lets himself think about the truth for too long, he might never be able to come back from it.

May runs a hand over his forehead, slides it back through his hair. “I'm not going to force you to. But I think you might regret it later if you don’t go.”

She’s right, of course.

“I’m leaving in twenty minutes,” she says on her way out of the room. “Love you, Pete.”

Peter slowly gets up. The suit that May got him for the occasion hangs on the back of his bedroom door. His new bedroom door. Because their old apartment was another casualty of the blip. Which isn’t important in the scheme of things, but it just contributes to the general feeling of  _ wrong _ that permeates every aspect of his life, now.

The suit seems to cast a shadow over the room, even though there’s no light behind it. Peter approaches it, cautious like it might attack. He slides it off the door and brushes his thumb over the fabric.

“Okay, Spider-Man,” he says under his breath. “Let’s do this.”

There’s no wearing the mask today, but maybe if he pretends, he can be brave one more time.

He puts on the suit, splashes water on his face and on his hair to smooth it down. Minimum effort, but that’s all he has. He meets May in the kitchen and she looks proud of him. It’s not enough to make him feel better.

He tries not to think about Tony on the ride to the cabin, but trying not to think about something is still thinking about the thing.

There are a lot of people there—many that Peter doesn’t know at all. It makes him angry, for some reason. Some of these people fought against Tony at that airport in Germany. It still feels raw and recent to Peter even though he knows more years have passed than he experienced. But the people he hates the most are the ones who seem to have grown close to Tony in the last five years. It’s not fair that they got time with him that Peter didn’t. It’s selfish that Peter’s thinking like that. He feels like the person least worthy to be here.

Happy invites him to watch the hologram but he refuses. He can’t look at that. He can’t look at the arc reactor wreath. He definitely can’t look at Tony’s daughter. 

He feels numb, staring into the distance while Pepper lowers the arc reactor into the water. Which is good, better than breaking down in front of all these people.

_ Did it take this long before? _

When the ceremony is over, people disperse, some hanging in the yard while others go inside the cabin. May squeezes Peter’s arm before following Pepper. She knows what it’s like to lose a husband after all. Peter watches Happy pick up Morgan and carry her to the porch. Clint and Wanda talk on the bank. Nebula rests a hand on Rhodey’s shoulder as he silently cries. 

Peter sits on the dock, not really looking at anything in particular. 

“Hey, pipsqueak.”

It takes Peter a second to react, not realizing the words are meant for him. He looks over his shoulder.

Sam sits next to him. “How are you holding up?”

_ Kid, can you hear me? _

Peter shrugs. “Fine.”

“Okay. Well, if you ever feel like you aren’t, you can let me know.”

He stays quiet, bites back a scathing response about how they don’t even know each other. He doesn’t even think that Sam knows his name.

“What’s with the spider thing anyway? I saw your moves out there, you don’t need a gimmick. The outfit is creepy man—someone’s got to say it.”

It surprises a sound out of Peter. He’s not sure if it could be called a laugh, but it’s some distant cousin. Sam grins at him.

“I got bit by a radioactive spider—that’s how I got my powers.”

Sam’s eyebrows fly up his forehead. “You’re—fucking with me, right? You can’t be serious.”

“I swear! It was on a field-trip.” 

Sam shakes his head. “Wait until I tell Barnes. He’s going to lose it.”

Peter smiles at him, but his lips start to tremble from the effort and suddenly he’s crying. The tears come fast and hard, turning his face hot and splotchy. Sam just waits, not looking at Peter to give him some sort of privacy.

“I’m sorry,” Peter gasps. “I don’t know—”

“It’s all good, Spidey, totally fine. Let it out.”

Peter does. Once he starts, he can’t seem to stop.

_ Tony, he’s sobbing. _

_ Pete? Come on, buddy. _

“Peter, it’s okay. Peter, baby, you’re okay.”

Peter’s shoulders keep shaking, racked with sobs. When he blinks up and sees Tony’s face he scrambles away. 

“How are you here?” he demands. “What is this?”

Tony mouth falls open and he takes a few steps back.

Peter spins around wildly. Sam is gone. He’s no longer on the dock. The room is kind of familiar but he can’t place it. His eyes land on May and he latches onto her.

“May, what’s going on? I want to go home.”

Tony stiffens. He turns, almost mechanically, and starts taking long strides out of the room. Pepper grabs his arm to stop him, murmuring platitudes. Nothing makes sense. All Peter can do is gape at the man who should be dead.

“Peter, look at me.” He turns to May. “You were hallucinating. Can you remember yesterday?”

He thinks hard—it feels like his brain is being ripped apart. Everything’s twisted and garbled and confusing and he’s tearing out connections and creating new ones to sort through it.

He remembers yesterday at the cabin. He’d had eggs for breakfast, he’d hallucinated in front of Morgan, May had showed up, he’d hit sensory overload.

He remembers yesterday in May’s apartment. He’d slept in until 1 PM, his aunt had forced a PBJ down his throat, he’d stared at his laptop, trying not to think about anything, clicking on YouTube videos without really watching them. 

“I don’t know.” Each word takes a long time to get from his brain to the tip of his tongue. “Which one is real?”

Tony pries himself out of Pepper’s grip. She reaches for him again, but he shakes her off.

“Can’t, Pep.” Peter catches the whispered words as he bolts out of the room.

“Wait, Tony,” she sighs.

Peter’s gaze lingers on the door as it swings shut before turning to May for guidance. She hugs him close.

“This is real, sweetie,” she whispers into his ear. “I promise.”

The longer he focuses on her heartbeat, the more he believes her. His mind seems to be rearranging itself back into shape. It worries him that it takes so long to happen.

* * *

Once Peter convinces May that he’s alright (for now), he pads around the cabin looking for Tony. Every room he drifts through is empty, even the garage where he was sure he’d find the man.

Peter heads outside. He wanders around the Stark’s grounds, greeting Gerald as he passes the alpaca pen and peaking around the corners of the house. He avoids the dock and does not look at the lake. Just the thought of those places sends him back to the other world. He goes back inside, finds Pepper getting Morgan ready to go.

“Want to come to the park with us, Petey?” Morgan asks.

A vivid scene of himself convulsing through a hallucination while a dozen or so children watch springs to mind. “I think I’ll stay back today. Sorry.”

Her face falls and Peter’s follows suit. This is his life now, apparently. The map of his future used to stretch ahead of him with light-up pins for each goal he had planned to reach. Now, he can feel all of those lights flickering out. He can’t even go to a park.

He pushes the thoughts away.

“Have you seen Tony?” he asks Pepper.

She shakes her head. “He’ll be back. Don’t worry about him.”

Peter sighs. He follows them outside when they leave for the park to do another sweep of the property. When that comes up fruitless, he dips into the garage and checks to see if any suits are missing. They’re all there.

He’s about to sit on the porch step to wait when he senses motion. Tony walks out of the woods. His head is down and he’s hunched in on himself in a way that Peter has rarely seen. 

He jogs toward him. “Tony!”

Tony’s head jerks up, some of the etched in stress-lines fading a little as he confirms that it’s Peter.

“Oh, thank god,” he says.

It throws Peter off—the way that he isn’t even bothering to conceal his relief. He’s not trying to downplay what happened or pass off his reaction as a joke. It’s disconcerting. Peter’s not sure if he should feel honored that Tony feels comfortable enough to display his emotions or scared that the situation is dire enough that he has to.

“I’m so sorry.”

“What the hell? No. No way.” Tony scowls at him. “What do you have to be sorry for?”

“Um—”

“Nope. I shouldn’t have—” Tony waves his hands around a bit. “Freaked out like that. Won’t happen again.”

Tony starts ranting about solutions, most of which Peter can’t follow. He goes off on seven different tangents about unrelated topics on the way. Peter’s eyes keep getting drawn down to his shaking hands as he speaks. It doesn’t seem like he’s completely done ‘freaking out’.

“Shit, sorry, rambling. You should stop me when I do that,” he says. “Are you okay, by the way? Did I ask that yet? I don’t think I asked that yet.”

Peter fiddles with his hands. He opens his mouth, expecting an affirmative answer to come out, but instead he says, “I don’t know.”

It seems to trigger something in Tony—some sort of latent Dad instinct. His hands still completely.

“We’re going to work this out—I’m going to work this out.” He wipes his hands on his shirt. “I’m a mechanic. I fix things.”

Peter wants to say that he’ll believe it when he sees it and that he’s scared and exhausted and that, even hours later, the double memories are confusing him. He wants to say that he’s not one of Tony’s bots that he can tinker with until everything is in working shape. Instead, he nods and lets Tony lead him to the workshop.

* * *

“I woke up in my room at May’s. Then we went to your funeral. I had a breakdown on the dock.” Peter shrugs, trying to play it off as nonchalant. “That’s about it.”

Tony studies him, then gets up and starts pacing.

“They’re chronological,” he muses. 

Peter sits up straighter, spinning the chair back and forth to follow Tony’s movement.

“First, you were on Titan, went through a portal to a battle, got the stones, I got the stones and died, you watched my body get carried out of the battle, now my funeral.” Tony thrums his fingers along one of the tables. “It’s a sequence, a continuous story. I don’t think that’s how hallucinations are supposed to work.”

“Also, um—“ Peter stares at his feet. “There are other memories, now. Like, I know what happened in between the times I was there.”

Tony stops pacing to stare at Peter. A moment later, he continues, muttering, “Okay, okay.”

Peter watches him walk the length of the room a few more times.

“This is starting to feel like a Strange problem,” he says as he passes.

Peter laughs. “Really? You’re just now realizing that?”

“Capital ‘S’,” Tony says. “Call him, Fri.”

“Yes, boss.”

Tony taps his foot as the call starts to connect. 

The room starts to fizzle like static. At first, Peter thinks that it might have something to do with the wizard, but then he sees Ned. He’s ranting about some movie, animated hands fluttering around to emphasize his points. Then there’s a pop and he’s eating dinner with May. 

“Dr. Strange is currently unavailable.” At FRIDAY’s voice, Peter finds himself back in the room.

“Damn wizard,” Tony mutters. “Keep calling. Tell him its urgent.”

“Tony—” Peter’s voice sounds strained and weak.

He doesn’t get to see Tony’s response. The world spins and he’s in his suit, stopping a robbery. He used to find joy in this sort of thing. But recently, he hasn’t been feeling much at all. He webs up the criminals and then swings up to a rooftop, pulling off his mask to get some air.

“Aren’t you supposed to keep that on?” Sam lands next to him. 

They spend twenty minutes up there. Sam cracks jokes until Peter finds himself smiling, just a little. 

“See you later, pipsqueak,” Sam calls as he takes off.

Then he’s at one of May’s events for the homeless. Everyone’s asking him about Tony and he  _ can’t handle it. _ He leaves, finds a roof to cool off on. Of course, Tony’s mural looms over him. He prays that Sam will land next to him, or that he’ll sense someone in trouble and have to help them, or that May or one of his friends will call. None of that happens. He swings home.

“Peter, Peter!” Tony’s face filters into his vision. “What’s happening?”

White-hot pain blooms behind his eyes and he brings a hand up to it with a gasp. Tony’s hand flutters over his own, as if he’s not sure whether his touch would be helpful or harmful.

“A lot,” Peter answers.

Tony zips out of view again. Peter’s in Venice and there’s a water creature of all things because he can’t catch a break. Of course it’s too much to ask for a relaxing vacation—for a chance to hang out with Ned and maybe become something to MJ. He’s so tired.

He tries to fight it anyway. Responsibility and all that. 

Nick Fury. Quentin Beck. Elementals. Peter wants no part in any of it. Except maybe Beck. He seems nice. He looks at Peter like he’s more than just a tool to fight for the greater good.

Peter almost cries when he hears the words— _ even dead, I’m the hero.  _ It’s the truth. It’ll always be the truth. But he chuckles a little, too. It’s so Tony.

When Beck puts on the glasses, Peter sees Tony and then he  _ sees Tony. _

“Get over here, Strange.” His voice is deadly calm. “Right now. I’m serious.”

Peter hears the fizzing of one of Strange’s portals but then he’s handing EDITH to Beck. It’s like a weight falling from his shoulders. He’s not cut out to be the next Iron Man, but maybe he did enough by finding a suitable replacement. 

It’s a mistake. A huge mistake. He can’t seem to find his voice as Beck tortures him with image after image. Not even when Tony’s body crawls out of it’s grave. He tries to scream but it dies in his throat. Train. Everything goes black.

Happy’s plane is the best sight he’s ever seen. So is Happy once Peter determines that he’s real. The man squeezes him tight.

He saves the day. He gets his first kiss with the most amazing girl in the world. He gets home to May. His phone pings with texts from Sam as soon as he hits American soil.

And then his face is blown up, huge, in front of him. Everything comes crashing down again.

Peter groans. He’s horizontal, something strong holding him in place. He pushes against it but it doesn’t give.

“Parker?”

He squints up. “Dr. Strange? What—“

“He’s going to be confused for a few minutes,” Tony says. “Maybe longer—I don’t know.”

Well, he got that right. Peter can’t summon the energy to get scared or stressed about the situation though. He just flexes against his restraints once more before giving in. They’re yellow and glowy—definitely magic. He can’t beat that. 

“Sorry about that, Pete, you were spasming, a bit.” Tony pats his shoulder. “We didn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know,” Tony sighs before turning to Strange. “Can you release him now?”

The restraints melt away with a flick of Strange’s hand. Peter doesn’t move an inch, just stares at the ceiling, waiting for his mind to clear.

Tony gently lifts his upper body into a sitting position. “Is this okay? Do you want May?”

Peter thinks about it with great difficulty. It’s the mental equivalent of wading through mud.

“No,” he finally decides. “Don’t want to worry her.”

Tony laughs, relieved. “You are back.”

Back? Peter thinks about that. Where did he go? Slowly the connections start to form. 

“Hallucinating?”

“Strange doesn’t think so. Not exactly.”

The words don’t make much sense. Peter brings his hands up to his head. He tugs a little on his hair, willing his thoughts to move faster. It’s frustrating and his temples are starting to pound from the effort.

“Take your time.” Tony pats his back a few times.

“I think we should do it now,” Strange says.

Tony turns away from Peter. “You can’t be serious. Look at him! He needs a break.”

“It has the best chance of working now, while they’re still so entangled.”

“Who’s they?” Peter asks.

They both pause and look at him before turning back to each other and arguing some more. Peter watches with growing exasperation.

“Okay, enough. I’m good now.” It’s not exactly true. He still feels fuzzy around the edges and if he had to stand right now, he probably couldn’t, but they don’t need to know that. “Let’s do it—whatever it is. I want this to end.”

Before Tony can speak, Strange launches into an explanation. 

“My best guess—there’s another dimension where things played out how you see them in your ‘visions’. Which aren’t really visions at all, they’re the memories of this other Peter Parker. He must have stumbled into some magic, could be trying to take your place or—merge with you somehow. It’s inadvisable at best, catastrophic at worst. Only an idiot would try something like that.”

Peter frowns. He’s not sure how much this other Peter Parker’s actions reflect on him, but by the way Strange is looking at him, there must be some correlation.

“Or desperate,” Tony adds. “He’d hardly be the first person to turn to magic in their hour of need, Doctor.”

“Those are not comparable situations.”

Strange explains that an astral projection should conjure both Peter and alternate Peter. They’ll be able to talk, and if need be, Strange should be able to force the other one out.

“Will he be okay?” Peter asks.

The other boy is him, in a way. He knows all of Other Peter’s most recent memories, lived through a lot of them. He wonders if the other boy can see all of his experiences as well.

“Should be.” It’s a cop out answer, but neither Peter or Tony call him on it.

Without warning, Strange thrusts out a hand towards Peter.

He feels himself being thrown backwards, while simultaneously watching himself slump to the side. There’s also some sense of his brain being untangled some more. Instead of feeling like he lived through all of the hallucinations, it just feels like stories that someone else told him, or that he read, or that he saw from a distance. He can still remember them but they’re not his memories.

“Woah,” he says, eloquently.

“I told you not to do it, yet.” Tony glares at Strange.

“It worked didn’t it?”

It worked? Peter glances to his right, eyebrows furrowed. That side of the room is empty so he tries the other one. A gasp falls from his lips. There he is. A younger, pale, fuzzy ghost version of him, but him nonetheless.

Other Peter’s eyes dart around the room. He crosses his arms and starts backing away. He’s staring at Tony as if he’s the one in the room that looks most like a specter. Peter’s hit with a wave of uncertainty, followed by a pang of hope. It takes him a second to realize that those emotions aren’t his own.

“Um, hi, Other Me” he says.

Other Peter notices him for the first time. “Oh no. Something went wrong. Should have known. Something always goes wrong.”

“Well, when a mere boy messes with complicated dark magic.” Strange sniffs.

Peter rolls his eyes. The man’s holier-than-thou attitude gets on his nerves on a good day. There’s no need to make little other him feel bad.

Other Peter doesn’t seem to hear the words. He just goes back to staring at Tony with a haunted expression. Tony alternates between looking at him and Peter, with something akin to uncertainty under the thin layer of stoic.

“All good, Pete?” Tony asks.

Tony’s looking at Other Peter, but Peter can tell that he’s talking to him.

“Yeah, all good.”

Other Peter shakes his head, takes a few more steps back. Tony finally moves toward him.

“If anything starts to get funky, just say the word and Dumbledore will put you back.”

Strange narrows his eyes at the back of Tony’s head, but shoots Peter a more serious look. He assumes that means the wizard will do what Tony said.

“Hi, Peter.” Tony’s voice is slow and soothing, exactly how he speaks to Morgan when she gets upset.

Other Peter flinches, and then continues to shake his head. It reminds Peter of how upset he was when Tony picked him up at his apartment at the start of this whole mess.

Tony reaches out, but pulls his hand away, realizing that he can’t actually touch the astral form of Other Peter. The boy’s eyes are almost comically wide. He takes another step back, even as Tony retracts his hand. 

Tony looks at Peter and Strange helplessly, before focusing back on Other Peter. “Are you okay, kid?”

Other Peter freezes and Peter’s stomach starts to swirl with his counterpart’s emotions. There’s so much fear and pain and longing mixed with trace amounts of love and hope.

“He’s scared,” Peter whispers.

Other Peter glares and takes a few hasty strides toward him. “Why are you still here?”

Tony moves between him and other him, stance wide and protective. Peter’s not sure why. He’s older than Other Peter, bigger, more experienced. There’s nothing that Other Peter can do to hurt him. But then again, maybe he already has with the whole trying to break into his life thing. But, Peter doesn’t think that the whole plan was an act against him specifically. Other Peter was just trying to find something that he had lost.

“Why are  _ you _ here?” Tony demands.

Other Peter’s mouth shifts through a few different syllables, face twisting up in a multitude of ways, before finally forming words. “I-it’s better here. I saw it.”

So, he had seen Peter’s memories just as Peter had seen his. 

“You guys won—on Titan! That’s—that’s—like the best case scenario. No five-year gap.”

Even Strange can’t seem to find anything to say. The three of them just stare at Other Peter. He takes it as a cue to continue.

“Nobody died,” he says quietly, looking at Tony, face soft and vulnerable.

His face hardens over in an instant and he moves right through Tony, who shudders as it happens. He gets right in Peter’s face.

“On your sixteenth birthday, he bought you a car. He had a big party for you at the cabin. You acted embarrassed and I guess you were, a little. But you loved it. I felt it. You were so happy.” Peter swallows. “I don’t need a car. I just wanted him to be there.”

Peter feels his breaths coming in uneven gasps. He remembers Other Peter’s sixteenth birthday, too. It’s more recent than his own, seeing as the kid in front of him is still that age. He’d plastered on a fake smile, had Ned over for cake. He’d cried himself to sleep. It’s not fair. 

“You got to go to Pepper and Tony’s wedding,” Other Peter whispers. “You and May were in the second row. You cried when they read their vows.”

Peter feels Tony’s eyes on him. He’d never told the man that he had cried.

“You were there when Morgan was born. You have a room at their cabin. Tony’s your second emergency contact. You introduced MJ to him like he’s your father or something. They’re part of your  _ family _ .”

Other Peter sniffs and slides his sleeve under his eye. “You didn’t even have to deal with Beck.”

Peter averts his gaze. Beck had been bad—he was the turning point. He’s why Other Peter is here now. The identity reveal on top of everything else had been too much. It’s why Other Peter had turned to magic. The kid really can’t catch a break.

“They’re part of your family,” Other Peter repeats. “I want that.”

Without further warning, Other Peter lunges forward. Peter realizes quickly that just because they look like ghosts, it doesn’t mean that they function like ghosts in the traditional sense. Other Peter knocks him into a table with a bunch of Tony’s tools on it. Peter feels the impact and the tools scatter around them, but they still sink to the floor through the table. 

Other Peter pulls his fist back and brings it down hard on Peter’s face. He hesitates afterward, obviously waiting for Peter to strike back. Peter just holds his hands over his face. Other Peter frowns and starts pummeling him, punches coming in fast, one after another. Peter blocks some, but does nothing to mount an attack back. He doesn’t want to fight this boy. He doesn’t deserve more pain that he’s already been allotted, and Peter’s happy to alleviate some of it if this can be some sort of catharsis for him.

He hears Tony shouting, at them, at Strange, trying to make Other Peter stop.

Other Peter does stop. He looks down at Peter with wide eyes, and then at his hands. Instead of letting Peter stand, he grips his shoulders and shakes them.

“Fight back,” he pleads. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Peter laughs dryly. He feels like his face should be swollen and oozing blood, but there’s no evidence of that on Other Peter’s hands. Their astral forms are intact. He wonders what his real body looks like—if this fight with even affect it.

“I’m not going to fight you,” Peter says.

Other Peter’s face screws up in anger and he sinks one more punch into Peter. It feels like his nose is cracking, and he barely bites back an agonized grunt. But then, the younger boy rolls off him and sits with his knees to chest, head downward, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

Tony kneels beside Peter, sparing an angry glance at the other boy. “Your body looks okay. Are you okay?”

Peter nods and forces himself to sit up. He keeps one hand on his face.

Tony whirls around towards Other Peter and Peter immediately knows what he’s going to say. Something along the lines of  _ what the fuck do you think you’re doing here _ followed by  _ I tried being sympathetic but now that you pulled that stunt—.  _ Even if the kid beat Peter up a bit (in a way that doesn’t even seem to be permanent, based on Tony’s assessment of his body), he doesn’t deserve to be treated harshly. Not now. Especially by Tony.

“Don’t,” Peter says, quietly. “He’s been through a lot.”

The fight goes out of Tony’s body, softening every taut muscle. The words cause Other Peter to bring his head up from his knees and watch Tony and Peter with watery eyes. 

“I’ll never be him to you,” he mumbles.

Peter’s not sure if he means that he’ll never get the chance with his own Tony or if he means that this Tony wouldn’t accept him if he tried to replace Peter.

“You won’t.” Tony’s statement is blunt, but not said with any malice. 

Peter tries to smack him anyway because it’s not what Other Peter needs to hear, but his hand just goes right through Tony’s arm. The man notices the gesture and waves a hand towards him.

“I’d keep you here if I could,” Tony adds.

Desperation flares in Peter. He knows that it’s not his own. Other Peter is moving towards Tony, gesturing and babbling.

“Then do it. Please. I’m sorry I attacked him. Please let me stay. I—”

“He can’t,” Strange interrupts. “Just the merging of your astral forms is already putting a strain on the fabric that holds our separate universes intact. Not to mention the havoc its been wreaking on Peter’s mind.”

Peter grimaces as Other Peter takes a shuddering breath and hangs his head. The younger boy sniffles softly. Tony scoots closer to him, but Other Peter doesn’t look up.

“What am I going to do,” he whispers into his knees.

Tony’s mouth opens and closes. He looks lost—an expression that Peter has seen on his face too often since the hallucinations (or now, not exactly hallucinations) started. Tony doesn’t know everything that Peter does. He didn’t see all events in Other Peter’s timeline, he doesn’t have access to Other Peter’s memories. Peter decides to step in.

“You’re going to be fine.” The words come out firm and sure.

Other Peter abruptly looks up. There’s not enough fire behind his expression to describe it as anger, but he doesn’t look pleased by Peter’s words. 

“That’s easy for you to say,” he bites out. “You get to stay here.”

Before Peter can think of a response, the fire reignites and Other Peter tackles him again. Tony lets out a surprised squawk. His reflexes are fast and if Other Peter had been a physical body, he would have been successful in blocking the attack. But instead, Other Peter slips through his grasp.

“Send him back,” Tony orders. “Strange, send him back now!”

“It’s going to take a few minutes,” Strange mutters before switching into a language that Peter doesn’t understand.

Instead of attempting to block any of the punches, Peter tries talking instead. It’s hard to get anything substantial out between Other Peter’s swift hits, but he does his best. The more words he gets out in a sequence, the slower the next punch comes, as if Other Peter is waiting for them, listening a little. That’s good.

“You’re going to—” A particularly hard blow hits Peter and his vision blurs—he wonders if his astral form can lose consciousness. “Be okay. I’ve seen it.”

The  _ nothing _ that follows is bliss. When he blinks his pseudo-swollen eyes open, Other Peter is staring down at him with his lips slightly parted. 

“What do you mean?” His bottom lip quivers a bit. “You’ve seen what?”

“I was there, with you, through everything. I lived some of your worst moments, and I remember the rest. You’re going to be okay.”

“But you haven’t seen the future?”

Peter swallows, prepares himself for more hits. “No, sorry.”

“Then, how do you know?”

Peter doesn’t know how to answer him. It’s a feeling, really. When he reflects on the moments of Other Peter’s life, he knows that it’s true. There are people who look out for him—May, Happy, Sam, his friends. And he’s learned a lot, faster than Peter himself had, and maybe even more in quantity as well. And maybe that’s not fair for him—to have to grow up fast, but it’ll help him. He’ll be okay. He’s not sure how to explain that in a way that will make sense to the distraught boy in front of him.

“Because you’re you,” Tony says.

Other Peter’s head jerks towards the man. He still seems particularly skittish around Tony, which makes sense, since he’s been dead in Peter’s time for a year.

“I’m sorry.” Tony’s voice breaks a little on the word. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t there to tell you this kiddo, but you’re the best of us. You don’t need me there to help you. You’re enough all on your own. You’ve got this.”

It takes Peter back to a similar conversation he’d had with Tony. He thinks he was seventeen, on one of his first big Avengers missions without his mentor. It was one of the few other times that he’d seen Tony in a suit after they defeated Thanos. Peter had been reckless, desperate to prove himself to the older, more established members of the team. He refused to call for backup when he’d desperately needed it. And a civilian died because of it.

He had bolted—after the battle when all the other hostages had been led to safety. Tony had found him, panicking on a rooftop outside the city.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he said, voice still distorted by the mask as he landed.

Peter turned away from him. “I should have called for help.”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed. “But they would have killed him either way.”

“You don’t know that.” His voice shook on every word. “I don’t—I’m not—I shouldn’t be on the team. I’m not cut out for this.”

Tony had shrugged. “Your choice.”

And that was enough to confirm what Peter’s choice would be. If Tony wouldn’t even fight for him, tell him that he was worthy of his spot, then he definitely didn’t deserve it.

“But you should know that you’re the most capable person to do this job.”

The words were nice to hear, but they still seemed empty to Peter at the time. There was no proof of it.

“Yeah, right,” he muttered. “Everything that makes me great comes from you. You taught me so much. You made me this suit. And I’m still failing you.”

Tony had stiffened, first stunned and then eyes hardening with anger. “Don’t say that.  _ You _ are what makes you great. You were a hero long before I came around and interrupted your life. Bow out if you want to, but never because you don’t think you’re good enough.”

Other Peter’s looking at Tony now with the same expression that Peter is sure had been on his face on the rooftop that day—utter adoration with the traces of belief in the words.

The edges of Other Peter seem to be getting fuzzier. Peter realizes that Strange is still chanting. He must be getting close to the end of the spell. Other Peter holds out his arms, reaching for Tony, who does the same. Their hands linger in the same space without touching.

“I’m going to be okay?” Other Peter’s voice is so quiet, so small, that it can barely be heard over Strange’s.

Tony nods and squeezes the air where Other Peter’s hands should be. They seem to fizzle, cutting in and out of Peter’s sight. Finally, Strange’s chanting ceases.

“I’m sorry,” Tony says, strained with emotion.

Peter smiles shakily, gives a small wave of his hand. The motion is aborted as his ghost-like form pops out again, this time not reappearing. 

“Good luck,” Peter whispers to the empty air.

Tony buries his face in his hands. Peter glances at Strange. He’s staring at the spot where Peter had been, face pale. None of them say another word. It’s what Peter had wanted—to get rid of the horrific visions. It doesn’t feel like a victory.

* * *

Slowly, things go back to normal. Peter had only missed a few days of classes, although the time at the cabin, vision after vision, had felt like years. He still gets paranoid that it will happen again, but the fear fades everyday. His worry for Other Peter doesn’t.

That doesn’t seem to fade for Tony either. The man moves on from the incident in what Peter recognizes as a Tony sort of way. He’s fine, but—there’s something off. He never talks about it and Peter’s too afraid to bring it up, but he’s pretty sure that he’s not the only one that Tony sees when they’re together. 

He’s at May’s apartment when the Avengers Alert goes off. He changes into his suit and stoops so that May can plant a kiss on his forehead before pulling down his mask and practically diving out the window. 

There’s a quinjet waiting at the specified location. Peter pads up the ramp. Strange and Wanda sit at the back, in some hushed conversation. The former offers Peter a nod before turning back to the latter. Rhodey glances back at him from the pilot seat with a smile. He passes by Sam and Bucky’s seats. Sam stays uncharacteristically quiet, eyes tracking Peter’s movement. Bucky throws a few empty taunts his way, but even they seem less harsh than usual. Peter salutes in their direction.

He takes a seat, only to stand back up almost immediately, nervous energy propelling him into motion. This mission feels bigger than it should. It’s his first one since the Other Peter incident, and for some reason he can’t get his alternate self out of his mind.

For lack of anywhere else to go, he finds himself in a side compartment of the jet, a small corridor out of the way of the main cabin where the rest of the team is. He paces back and forth. The nerves are unwarranted, but he can’t seem to calm them. Images of the damn battle, not even his own fight, simmer just below the surface. He struggles to keep them there. Then, he starts to worry that it will happen again—that a vision will sneak up on him in the middle of the fight and leave him helpless. Another irrational fear—there’s no reason that anything like that should ever happen again.

“Hey, Spidey.”

Peter flinches and tries to cover it by spinning to face Sam right away, glueing a smile onto his face. 

“Cap,” he replies with a nod.

Sam studies him for a few seconds. “I heard what happened.”

Peter tenses because the last thing he needs is to be benched. He might be a little more nervous than usual, but he can still fight. He needs to fight. It’ll help with his sense of normalcy. He just wants everything to go back to the way it was before.

“That’s—rough. I can’t imagine.” Sam looks down and rubs the back of his neck. When he looks up his gaze his sharp, but kind. “Are you good?”

Peter is transported to a different reality, but not in a bad way this time. He feels Sam’s steady hand on his back after the battle. He hears Sam’s comforting words at the funeral. He sees Sam landing next to him on a rooftop and Sam’s texts on his phone.

Before he has a chance to talk himself out of it, Peter lunges forward and throws his arms around the man. A moment later, Sam’s hands find their way to Peter’s back as well. 

“Thank you,” Peter mumbles.

It’s not just for this moment, and it’s not just for him. But that’s all so complicated. Sam doesn’t need to know the details.

Sam pats his back twice before pulling away. “Don’t mistake this for friendship, Parker, we’re not friends.”

Peter laughs. It comes out a little watery. He wipes a tear from his cheek and hopes that it will be the only one.

“But, if you need anything—” 

Sam doesn’t finish the thought, but Peter gets the message.

* * *

Peter doesn’t hallucinate anymore, but he starts to dream.

The first time that it happens, he’s sure that it’s a coincidence. Other Peter is on his mind a lot, it makes sense that he’d be featured in subconscious as well. He dreams that he’s on the run, hunted for his identity. Beck’s alive. They fight again and he gets shot in the shoulder.

Peter wakes up, breathing heavily. The sheets around him are drenched in sweat and his skin is sticky with it. He shivers when the cold air from the AC hit his bare back and tells himself that it was only a dream.

They keep coming and, just like the visions, they’re too chronological to just be random dreams. They make too much sense. He dreams of defeating Beck, for real this time. He dreams of a press conference at the new Avengers Compound, May on one side of him, Sam and Pepper on the other as he confirms his identity to the world. He dreams of calm days with decathlon practice and dates with MJ and violent days where he’s sad and  _ angry  _ and finds himself chasing down criminals to the point of recklessness just to have something to take out all of his feelings on.

But the good start to outnumber the bad and he dreams that he gets happier.

* * *

The closest Tony’s come to bringing up the topic is asking Peter if he’s okay. He doesn’t need to mention hallucinations for Peter to know what he’s talking about. The dreams are left unmentioned. It’s obvious that Tony doesn’t want to think about the experience, so Peter’s not going to mess with that.

Which is why it’s surprising when Tony finally does bring it up. They’d been watching  _ Lilo & Stitch _ with Morgan. She had fallen asleep before Lilo had even adopted Stitch from the animal shelter. Tony and Peter stayed on the couch anyway, Morgan’s sleeping body curled up against Tony’s side and Peter stretched along the rest of the couch.

His eyes are fixated on the screen because it’s a  _ good movie  _ so he almost misses Tony’s words.

“Do you think he’s alright?”

For a split second after the sentence registers, Peter’s convinced that Tony is talking about Stitch. He almost teases Tony about being so old that he’s forgotten how this classic movie ends, but his brain catches up in time and he turns to Tony. The man’s looking at him with tear-filled eyes.

“And the others, too? Do you think they’ll be okay?”

He thinks of his dreams. He thinks of the one where Other Peter visited Tony's grave without crying, just to tell him about MJ and his college search. He thinks of the one where Sam had dinner at May's apartment. And most of all he thinks of the one that he had last night. Other Peter had finally taken a big step that Peter had been waiting for. He’d gone to visit the cabin and properly met Morgan. The dream had started out like the bad days. He had been anxious about spending time with her, and seeing her had brought back memories of the funeral, when he couldn’t bear to look at her face. But Morgan’s smile had quickly melted the negative emotions away and soon he was carrying her around the garden on his back. Her arms were outstretched like airplane wings and him making undignified motor sounds. Peter had woken up feeling nothing but warmth.

“Yeah,” Peter says. “I know they will be.”

**Author's Note:**

> One day I'll write something that isn't endgame angst, but that day is not today! Maybe next time lol
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Come talk w/ me on [tumblr!](https://peterparkrr.tumblr.com)
> 
> Also would love for you to check out some of my other works if you are interested :)


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